


Aftermaths

by Al_D_Baran



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Intersex, Intersex!England, M/M, Other, Past Character Death, Past FrUk, Past Relationship(s), Smut, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_D_Baran/pseuds/Al_D_Baran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of their home kingdom, Alfred and Arthur find themselves escaping an Empire set to destroy magic. Arthur, being a high mage, is in great danger. Over that, they must manage their new relationship, and the difficulties that come with it. </p><p>UsUk, past FrUk. Kind of a PWP but not really. Was supposed to be just shameless smut when... well, it got out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I am ''slightly'' obsessed by Skyrim so it might show. This will be in a few parts because I am a slow ass (: I'm French so don't be too harsh on my grammar and stuff, okay ? My language is obviously superior to your barbaric dialect (haha, kidding.) FrUk is simply a past thing. It's not gonna be too much of a huge deal but yeah it like imposed itself somehow. Goddamn you, otp.
> 
> If something is wildly innacurate or wrong in uh... anything, please, do tell me.

And I see different shades now  
And I'm almost never afraid now  
But when I think I'll be okay  
I am always wrong now  
— Leona Lewis, “My Hands”

 

The soft carpet of moss beneath their feet made travel easier. Woods were unsure at this time of the year—or well, at any time since the Empire had taken control of these parts, putting them in a rule that Arthur only assumed was a distant dystopia that would stay in the North. Yet, here they were, in the woods, just as bears came out of the sleep with their babes. Wolves too, would be sure to hunt for them. Or soldiers. Arthur wasn't sure which one would be worst to find at the moment, as they were hungry and had walked all day. Any kind of wolves would have been the death of them. They walked with weapons readied and quick to be drawn, his bow in hand and his body almost lit under his robes through the magic he made sure could be fired at any moment they would need.

This was just what had put them in troubles for so many months. The Empire; a large country made out of its annexed minions, where starvation was something often seen, and nobles had little idea of how villeins of remote parts of the country died of hunger. They were mechanical, valuing warriors over anything else, and had started a war on magic. Their birth kingdom had been a small one, settled between two mountains on the seaside. Magic had been something powerful there, something everyone treasured and treated like an art; of course, strength had never been spit upon, but people like Alfred without magic in them were pitied. The Mage's Guild where Arthur had been considered a highly ranked professor had welcomed him as a guard. And then, some time after, the Empire had attacked.

Everything had been left in ruins. The white stones towers of the town had fell, crushing thousand of years of knowledge due to the growing fear of the strong magic of the smaller countries. The Emperor feared; sitting on his throne of marble and rubies, he feared without end that mages and wizards from various countries would overthrow him. Friends had died; Arthur remember a man's company he secretly enjoyed, a rich heir who funded his research, whom he had tried to save, only to come too late. Already dead. Like most he knew. If Alfred laid his hopes and channelled his fury through dreams of revenge, Arthur knew better; they would never be able to do anything about it.

They were only two poor refugees, fleeing and chased for his magic. They were two against a millions hungry, indoctrinated soldiers. It was delusional to think they could win... and he felt numb. Numbed by nightmares of the explosions of canons and catapults, the screams and the deafening sounds of stone crumbling. It hurt. He was hungry, weak and pained; something that no one in countries were science was regarded as forbidden magic would see as anything else but a monster. Even in their home country... it was a secret; an oddness, something pitied. 

Alfred was walking before him, his large back covered by the leather of his armour, the chain-mail under tinkling as he moved. The herbs weren't too tall around there, but many times, he slipped in his leather boots; the moss gave out under his weight, revealing sleek rocks under them. The exhaustion showed on his face; red cheeks and sweat pearling on his temples, Arthur could only imagine how hot it was under the many layers of leather and metal he was wearing, as well as his heavy two-handed sword and the equipment he carried. For a second, he regretted the fact they were no rangers; surviving in a forest with little skills was harder than anyone would expect. Nonetheless, with the moss and the spring giving life to the land, Arthur had been able to hit many deers right in the eyes. They had ate; often with no fire to make sure no one would notice them.

It had been two days since he had seen any, now.

Arthur felt tired; hunger was stabbing his stomach, used to eating more than enough before, and now forced to either eat deers or foxes. Their meat wasn't as tender as cattle, and Arthur had never gotten out of city walls. Alfred wasn't the best cook, and somewhat clumsy. Being used to cooking pots and fire, Arthur had decided to cook, and Alfred seemed to rather enjoy the food he made. It was crispy and he wished they could have kept more now, but there was only so little they could carry without spices to keep the meat from turning bad. His stomach grumbled at the mere thought of food along with a painful sensation, and Arthur groaned. The sun was setting. If they didn't find a good shelter or see a deer before an hour or so, it would soon be three days without food. His throat was parched too; the tiny gulps he could get from his lukewarm gourd did little to ease the dryness.

Going close to the river would have been suicide—war ships and such must have still been around to secure other kingdoms and republic around the sea. 

Tripping over a few hidden roots between moss and fallen leaves, Arthur let out a rather embarrassing yelp, falling forward as he dropped his bow and arrow, the rest of them in his quiver quickly poured out all around him. Grumbling and cursing every trees he could see, the mage looked at his scratched hands. It burned, but his rather insignificant skills regeneration magic healed them in a moment, leaving small, pink circles in his palms. Starting to pick the arrows up and everything that had fell around him, he noticed Alfred had sheathed his sword and was starting to help him.

“We need to stop for today,” he said. They spoke so little his voice was almost hoarse.

Arthur sighed, looking around, seeing no shelter around. Maybe they could find a tree who's roots had lifted, and under... somewhere to hide from the rain. Spring always brought its load of water, and Arthur didn't feel like being soaked.

“I know. Find a place for us to stay.” And food.

“Easier said than done, you know.” As if he didn't knew. Alfred smiled however, hunger clear in his eyes and behaviour. They were tired and if they got in a fight now, they would never last even a minute. Giving him a bunch of arrows to place back in his quiver, Alfred turned around again.

“I know. We slept on roots for days now... my back hurts.”

Alfred didn't answer this time, focused on looking around for a shelter for the night. Turning around to look at the milky white sky, the scholar sighed, and started walking again, this time, careful for roots.

***

As the sky had darkened, the early darkness of the forest had revealed to be a storm—the downpour had lasted for an hour, forcing them to run. Quickly enough, they were right next to the Syan river. It was almost impossible to see the other side, but manoeuvring around the rocky cliffs for a moment had allowed them to find a shelter in a cave. Shaking and cold to the bones due to the rain that seemed to last forever, Arthur had almost stumbled down on the rocks, dragging himself away from the pouring rain and leaned against the wall of the cave. Able to concentrate and now that they were away from the view, Arthur pressed his hands together to create a small ball of light, illuminating the cave and Alfred, the warrior falling next to him with a small laugh.

Water dripped over his cheeks and nose, his hair stuck to his forehead but for the curl that wouldn't go down. A drop of rain clung to his nose and as he shook his head and smiled, turning to him, and nudged his side. Almost hypnotised, Arthur would have been startled, but the warrior merely said, “We don't need to wash any more, it seems. I was starting to smell.”

Shaking his head, Arthur said, teeth chattering, “Umpf. You still smell. Go back there.”

“Aw. What, is it your menses ? Are you in a bad mood ? Want me to kiss it better ?” Alfred leaned in to press a kiss to his nose, and Arthur did something akin to a turtle pushing its head back inside its shell, and pushed the other's face away.

He still had trouble adapting to their relationship. It was hidden; men couldn't love each others, and Arthur felt very much like one. Alfred seemed to love him... and it had only been a few weeks; a month at best. It felt odd to be like this with the warrior, to kiss and let him hold him. It had happened to him before, but Arthur was sure he just needed to adapt to it. He knew he loved Alfred, and that he didn't care if he had, well... too much down there. It seemed that somehow, he was a cross between a man and a woman, Arthur himself wasn't sure how much of which, and didn't really care. In his head, he was a man, and that was more important than anything else.

Coming from a wealthy family, he had been raised a girl first; his mother was a strict one—he didn't feel like saying harpy—, and his father rather... well, yielding. A nice man, even if he wasn't ever strict enough, or at all. As his mother had died, the man had tried to understand his predicament. He had been eight, and the man already had six others sons, and had taken his hands sweetly. He had been ten, and he had assured him he could be whatever he wanted. What was down there didn't matter. So he had chosen to become a mage, and be a man. If it had took longer for his brothers to accept, they had all been rahter young, and they had other things to be mad about. As much as they fought, Arthur was glad they had accepted.

It hadn't always been so from others. Mages were uptight about who could learn, and gender seemed to be important. If a woman was great at war spells of the destruction kind, she would be told to lay it down, and start learning regeneration and illusion spells. That it wasn't proper.

“Fuck off. I don't need to get those to be mad. Plus, you're annoying as always.” It was playful banter. 

Alfred noticed how cold he seemed, and seemed to hesitate for a second before he turned to some small branches he had tied to his bag, and placed them on the ground. They were rather wet, but this wasn't the worst problem. Getting closer, Arthur pressed Alfred back, and let out a small fireball to light the branches. As cold as he was, he turned to a study he had in his bag. The water had made the ink drip all over it, but it was mainly dry. Adding the parchment to the fire, he waited for it to take.

“I uh, I guess you should take off your clothes... I mean, you look cold. I know you hate it but... yeah. I mean, we're together and I won't do anything.”

Maybe Alfred had guessed he would have kept his clothes unless he mentioned it. Groaning, the Briton looked to himself, and placed his bags behind him. The cavern was fairly small, so there wasn't much place at all. It had always took him time to be comfortable doing anything, especially showing himself. Alfred had been remarkably understanding until now, and the mage weighed the idea for a moment.

“You'll get sick,” Alfred added.

Turning around with a glare, Arthur hissed, “What, you want to see me naked ?”

Surprised at first, the warrior eventually seemed to become a little bashful. “Well...” he started, and smiled, a little uncomfortable. “We are... uh, we're together so... I'd like to, one day. But now, you're cold and wet so. I just don't want you to be sick.”

There was a silence. Alfred was right—of course—for once, and Arthur definitely didn't like that. Turning around to start unlacing his cloaks and robes, Arthur looked to the bind he put around his chest. This too, was rather soaked, and he hadn't too it off for a while. Annoyance adding over it again, the Briton unlaced it too, the tight laces on his side hard to reach. He looked over his shoulder to see Alfred had turned around, being thankfully quite understanding about this whole matter, and Arthur noticed him shedding his clothes too. He reminded himself to put a spell on the chain-mail so it wouldn't rust, and returned to his soaked boots, and pushed his clothes in a ball near the fire, wrapping his arms around himself to hide, and crossed his legs in front of him, attempting to hide his genitals without much success.

Alfred had turned around, eyes darting between his face and the storm outside, a hand covering his own crotch. The warrior smiled, trying to make him feel a little better, but Arthur ignored him. It felt odd... he felt unfit, especially next to Alfred, who had muscles everywhere making valleys and hills on his skin. The fire gave his darker, tanned skin a golden glow, and Arthur felt like a breakable, porcelain doll next to him. A farce, even. He shivered now, the small fire not achieving to warm him up, and Alfred came closer to hold him, slowly slipping one arm around his shoulders, waiting for him to feel, but pulled him close as soon as he didn't.

There was a silence again. Arthur felt tense, unsure why he couldn't relax, and Alfred tried to reassure him, “Arthur... I love you, okay ? Being naked... it doesn't mean it's sexual, you know, I—“

“Alfred. Stop... stop acting as if I'm a maiden. I... am not a virgin. I'm not scared of you or... sexual situations.”

“Oh.” Did he just bust his fantasies of the knight in shining armour being the first one to take the lovely maiden he had set eyes upon ? Arthur smiled as he turned around to look at the warrior's pout. He was warm... tick and and strong, and Arthur knew Alfred was the epitome of the adamant knight, protector of the orphan and the widow. Perhaps should he had been born a knight where they were revered, and he smiled again, laying his head against his biceps.

“It's just... we're in the forest and... I don't like being uncovered.” Especially next to a man like his... well, love. He still needed to remind himself. Even if he had been naked with another man before, it felt awkward. The only person he had ever been with had been good to make people feel at ease; there had been something in the way he smile and something in his eyes. Alfred didn't make him uncomfortable; the novelty of it, and the length of time that had passed since the last time he had been intimate were. “And... we have just started being... you know—“

“Lovers, yeah, I know... I don't really know how to act with you,” Alfred said.”

“You're doing better than me, I keep... being mean and yelling at you like a subordinate. And you never say anything about it.” It felt easy to talk when no one was around to hear, and when they were like this. Turning around to press a kiss to his lover's lips, the mage smiled a little, before he stopped, and looked down to his knees.

There was another silence. Arthur wondered what Alfred was thinking, before he said, “It's okay and... you know, I um... never been with anyone.” Arthur turned around with a frown, unsure what he meant by this. The mage himself had only ever been with one person, but Alfred carried on. “I'm a virgin, sorry I assumed you were too because you are really well... shy about all this.” Oh... well, that explained how adamant and painfully nice and patient he was about everything. For a second, he bitterly wondered if he would shift his ground and become more pushy, but this seemed too different from the Alfred he knew.

“It's okay. You're only nineteen, Alfred. I was twenty-two, so... if you feel old, I was even more.” And he had been set on never having sex. His lover had had to coax him very gently through every parts with the patience of a saint; starting over any time he clenched and panicked about everything. He had grown to fear sex, to fear intimacy. Even now, he wasn't sure how he had had been able to be so patient. To wait for him without meeting anyone else. To just... wait and reassure him, to love him even when fear put venom more than velvet on his tongue. Becoming somewhat silent for a second, the mage turned to Alfred, who watched him intently.

“Warriors like me usually get girls all the time. It's not for lack of occasion, I just... always loved you.”

Arthur felt a tingly warmth inside his chest, and tried to make it sound like he was taking the news with less joy than he was, and said, “You're not like other warriors. I wouldn't like you if you were.” They were mostly disgusting, hairy and thick-skulled and muscular men, who had little redeeming qualities but a low price for their swords. Alfred was different... he was handsome, young and caring. Arthur knew how much he loved him, and turned around again to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. The warrior blushed and gave out a dumb laugh, and he rolled his eyes, but fondly.

They stopped talking, but the silence was more comfortable, and Arthur didn't feel the need to speak. He felt less the need to hide, and looked to himself, before he uncrossed his arms—not that there was much to hide anyway. His breasts were a modest size; they barely pressed to his ribs, their swell easy to hide. He had been told they were cute; the nipples a pale pink. It was so girlish Arthur almost felt ashamed, but he had to admit they were rather nice when he didn't feel too complexed about himself. Alfred seemed to try not to stare, looking anywhere but to them, and Arthur smiled at his lover's behaviour. It was cute, and Arthur found himself feeling something akin to endearment. This boy seemed to be far too set on making sure he felt safe and comfortable... Arthur almost felt sorry for him.

“Alfred, please. Stop that. You can look. It's not gonna kill any of us.” He didn't even feel embarrassed at the idea. 

Not yet, at least.

Staring was a different matter, but since the warrior wasn't a monster, Arthur just laid against him, not minding as he other seemed to look, curiously. Closing his eyes to enjoy the other's heat, the mage snuggled against his side, and felt his stomach cramp. He was still hungry... hopefully they would be able to fish for some food. Hunt even. Gather fruits.

Whatever would have to do.

“They are cute,” Alfred said, swallowing, apparently unsure of how to act.

“Thank you... I heard that before.” It was slightly awkward not to answer such things with an half-hearted insult... but Alfred probably didn't knew it meant nothing, or would think it was something he shouldn't mention.

The warrior's free hand moved to his knee, and Arthur looked to him, noticing his body. Strong thighs... muscles everywhere. A cock larger than his last lover had been, even when his size had been more than respectable. Arthur felt a slight, old feeling of fear; if they ever got to... well, this part—he wanted to share this with Alfred, too—, he wondered how that would feel inside, as he had been hurt and scared by one smaller. The pain hadn't been because of his lover's behaviour, but what he had read was a psychological reaction: he was simply so stressed and scared that he would painful clench around any intrusions.

Looking to Alfred's hand, then his face, the Briton waited, unsure of what to think of his callused fingers tracing gentle circles in the soft skin of his thighs. His eyes darted from his face to his chest, and Arthur guessed the question before he asked, and chuckled. He was really acting like a child. “You want to touch them ?”

Alfred looked just like a deer as it was surprised by a racing horse, and the mage felt his shoulders shake with a chuckle he had to hold back. Soon enough, however, it was as if he had been given an unexpected honour or gift, and gently moved one hand to the skin, reaching gently, tracing the indents the constriction of the garments Arthur kept them into—the sewing and laces there was never failed to put red marks on his skin. Alfred's hands were strong and big, and the mage wished he could have some like these, and sighed gently as the rough skin met the almost porcelain-soft one of his breasts. Alfred explored one, then the other, his curiosity not unlike a child discovering something new, and Arthur smiled.

It had been long since anybody had touched him. The other man was gentle, his touches oddly delicate for a man who could cut another one in half from his broadsword without breaking a sweat, and the mage enjoyed it. His lover brushed a sensitive nipple, pulling him closer with his other hand, and Arthur looked down to see he was half-hard, but ignored it. If he felt all right with a little bit of fondling, Alfred's size made him nervous, and he could feel his body stiffen. No. Not tonight.

Alfred's index and thumb were rolling his nipple now, gently squishing it, and Arthur felt a tremor run down to his crotch, and groaned, feeling a natural reaction in his own cock, and pressed his hand to the other's wrist. “No... it feels good but... I don't want sex. I don't want... to get too bothered, okay ?” Deception was clear in Alfred's face, and Arthur remembered quickly he was still just an eager teen, and patted his knee. “You can still touch. Don't worry. Just... nothing too much. I'll tell you if it's too much okay ?” 

His legs had moved under the pleasure, and he could see Alfred's eyes move to his small, somewhat erect cock, and he half-crossed his legs to hide it, prompting the warrior to look away with a nod. The boy was being remarkably nice, and Arthur guessed he could reward him, and pulled himself up for a soft kiss on his lips, parting them to allow him inside, and felt him kiss him eagerly. If he was less skilled, the almost gluttonous and insatiable way Alfred's kisses were always made him feel as if he was a fine meal he couldn't get enough off, something he had been starving for. A stark contrast with his previous lover, who's kisses were slow and yet passionate, as if he was taking his time to savour a wine from an exotic place.

Alfred's hands were on his breasts and ribs, and Arthur felt like a novelty, or as if he was discovering something new to him. He too, didn't resist touching Alfred's muscles, the thin body hair on his chest, and the hardness of his skin. Soon, the warrior left his lips to kiss his face and ear, but looked down as he felt Arthur's hand go down to touch the curly hair around his cock. His youth and eagerness made him hard and warm, but Arthur seemed more curious about the hair, and Alfred seemed to be a little pouty.

“He always shaved. Said it'd make it look bigger...” Smiling at the memory, there was some pain in his smile, yet Alfred didn't have the time to notice. “Not like he needed it. Or not like you especially would need such things.”

“You want me to shave ?” the boy asked, and Arthur shook his head.

“I don't want another him.” Gods, please. He didn't want that pain again. “I want you as you are.” 

Laughing, Arthur pulled him in a soft kiss, curling his fingers in the coarse blonde hair, their lips meeting a slow, loving kiss. There was something soft and sugary about it, and Arthur felt soft shivers under his skin, his fingertips finding some of the same sort under Alfred's muscles. Pulling away as he started to touch him, knowing how a cock felt in one hand already, but curious to see how this one felt. It almost jumped in his hand, and Alfred moaned, breath hitching. The poor boy... he was just a teen, and Arthur pitied him a little. 

“I'll help you. You... don't need to help me. I'm fine and I don't want to, okay ?” His cock didn't really come anyway. Looking down as he pressed himself a little closer to Alfred's shoulder, he felt him nod as he started stroking him, noticing how it was longer, but not as thick. Length was apparently not as good as width, and the Briton pulled him in another kiss, drinking his tiny moans and groans eagerly, smiling as he touched the head to use the leaking pre-cum to make the stroking easier. Alfred was definitely masturbating; he was just another teen after all, and the mage felt his hands gently squeeze his breasts, his cock pressed against his hand as he rutted against it.

Alfred took only a minute or two to come, staining the floor next to them. Arthur turned around to look at it, and gave a smile as his friend seemed much more like the shy maiden he had thought him out to be, looking at him with a rather adorable surprise. Pulling his hands off of himself, he reached for his bags to fish out his blanket, and turned to Alfred. “Get the mattresses. I'm tired... we can sleep and cuddle.” It sounded like something nice after what they had done.

Alfred seemed a little taken aback by his somewhat cold behaviour, but Arthur smiled.

“Did I uh, did I do anything wrong ?” he asked.

Arthur shook his head. “No... don't worry.” Laying down on his mattress, Arthur pulled Alfred's against his own, and patted it to have him come over, seeing the warrior cover himself and the other in his own thick blanket, apparently guessing without him having to talk that he didn't want too much touching. Or for him to see what was inside his pants—not yet. Snuggling against the other's chest, Arthur closed his eyes as Alfred let him use his thick arm as a pillow. The fire was a novelty from the last few nights, and the mage felt himself finally fall asleep, feeling his lover's arm hold him close.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost done with this part and finished it tonight ! I have to get back in the swing of writing, honestly. My style is just... it seems pretty bad at the moment.  
> And in this chapter, there's a lot of FrUk and super little UsUk. Sorry guys ! Next part will definitely have a lot more of it u wu

The next day was just as tiring as the others. Arthur was starting to become tired, and even lifting his feet was becoming difficult. He hadn't dared to bind himself; breathing felt harder, and he spent most of his time sullenly looking to the mossy floor of the forest. It was a bright, beautiful day, and the sun shone brightly over the trees, warming his back. Alfred had pushed the top of his armour in a tight bundle inside his bag, and seemed to be fairing just as badly as he was. Even when he looked at the map, the mage wasn't quite sure where they were any more, hunger and fatigue making him unable to focus at all, but they should have been rather close to a village on the border of a neighbouring, large, quite militarized kingdom known for its knowledge of magic. Arthur felt too scared to go anywhere where he didn't knew magic was accepted and where the Empire's influence was dim, and Alfred merely followed.

The ground soon became mainly formed of dusty earth and crumpled leaves, roots and such. Walking was made easier on this ground, even when Arthur knew the moss made their steps more easily heard. He had only noticed after a moment, and it was with just a scoff, resigned. The night hadn't been good on him. As always, the nightmares of the White Stone towers of the towns were plaguing him, making sleep difficult. Alfred had woke him up a few times as he apparently begged, hands and body burning with restrained magic.

A few times, during his nightmares, he had burned Alfred at least to a small degree. Fire magic was something he used a lot, and as he woke up and could properly move, it seemed that the energy he had been storing was also unleashed. It had been more of a problem before. Yet... it wasn't because of fireballs. Arthur felt drained and burning like a fever as if he had had burned himself, hands tingling and his whole body alight by the strength of it. They weren't dreams. 

They weren't dreams... It was memories. The day where the towers and library of them collapsed, he and his main funder had been together, discussing magic. His funder, a rich prince from overseas, had been a handsome man in his early thirties. Thirty-three years old François Bonnefoy, was coming from the same place as he had fled during a war on magic. The hate toward it had somehow sparked a curiosity in him, making him come to this seaside, remote place to understand what it was.

And they had found each others, somehow. It had been a strange relationship. Bickering and half-faked fights for fun, but constant diverging opinions. They were wildly different at core; he was a very extroverted man, and he was an introverted one, always preferring his books and studies to anything else. François loved the sun and loved the day, loved to take him out on walks and talk about how beautiful nature looked in the morning, how the mist of the sea seemed like some kind of magic, too. Arthur, for his part, prefered to invite him to his suit on the East Tower, and show him the stars and moon on the balcony at night. Mead versus rum. François preferred blue, and he loved red. In an odd way, they completed each others like they missed pieces from the other ever since they were born.

It had been simple for them to fall in love. François was a skilled, perfect lover who had an infinite patience where he would get angry at the first fail. He had lead him through with his wisdom. Petted his hair and reassured him each time he failed, each time he was scared. No one had been like he was to him, no one had been like this man, and no one would ever be so toward him. It had been a perfect, pure love, and months after, he still shook at the thought. Damn this man.

When they had been attacked, they had been drinking some wine he loved in his suit. François had been in a good mood; they had spoke about a project, the man agreeing to fund whatever he wanted to do without troubles as long as if wasn't too dangerous for him. At a moment, they had both been tired of the conversation, and the over-filled couch under them had been more tempting for a nap and a kiss than anything else when the alarms had rang just as they leaned in to wrap around each others. So they had ran without a question, as soon as they had seen the red flags of the Empire high on the sea. They had held each other's hand tight enough to bruise, explosions and such in the town around them, debris flying near the windows. The White Castle had been aflame and filled with Empire infantrymen, and they had fled through the cellar.

They had been out. Far enough to get to the outside by a back door when something big exploded, and everything had blackened for a moment. His ears were ringing and François' hand was crushing his, breaking his knuckles—seven months after it was still hard to write, but it was just testifying his weakness. The screams he made then were plaguing his dreams, and the dust covering the sun outside lit the scene: a beam from the ceiling had cracked and some part of it had fell, impaling him trough the abdomen. The usually composed and strong man was looking at him in panic. _I don't want to die_. But you won't die ! he had said. He had tried to heal him. _I don't want to die !_ Tried hard enough to make himself sick, wishing to die on the strain of something he hardly ever practised, hurting in every limbs and muscles he didn't knew existed. _I don't want to die ! He wasn't going to die, Arthur had said. I don't want to die ! He couldn't die. _Je ne veux pas mourir !__

But soon enough, Arthur hadn't been able to to much more, hands bloodied and clinging to the remnant of jewelled clothes François wore that day, vomiting next to him, nose bloody, unable to produce but a lukewarm, feeble attempt of magic, and looked to him, hands shaking and panicked, his head hurting so much he was convinced it would split open. Don't leave me, he had said. Please don't leave. The sight of his tears had somehow calmed François almost automatically, who held his hands and touched his face.

François had always been the one to calm other's distress, something in him gave him strength as soon as the situation seemed to call for him to be the tougher one. And yet, this day was somehow no exception.

It's all right, he had said. I love you. It's not your fault.

And yet it was, he knew. He had always neglected regeneration magic. If only he hadn't been such a brain-dead fool thinking destructive magic could do everything, he wouldn't have been there. François wouldn't have been dying in his arms. And yet he was the one to reassure him, his tear-strained face somehow keeping a beauty even as ghastly as he was, telling him it was fine. That it would be fine. His hand was still almost crushing his, pain was visible in his face.

Everything is going to be fine for you, he had said, probably aware it was definitely a blatant lie. Promise me you will go, he had said. He would love him always. It was okay, and he would be okay.

Arthur wasn't sure when François had died. He had been rocking him, stubbornly refusing to understand what was happening, begging him not to leave as Francis seemed to be trying to reassure him, teeth chattering and pain the only constant of his voice. There was guilt in the memory that even as he died, all François wanted was to make him feel loved, and know this wasn't his fault.

It only showed so much of who he was. Everything that he had been, had been nothing but love.

Alfred had found him like this, too tired to move and burning with a fever, exhausted to the brink of death and with his hands bloody, one broken. Somehow, the warrior had guessed the dead man must have been a good friend, and he had brought him along, sneaking out of town by the forest. Arthur hadn't been strong as much as he wanted to say he had been. Not trusting Alfred entirely, he had thought showing pain in a way, could say that they were friends. Yet, there was nothing he felt but guilt and numbness, and he knew he would never be fine.

But who could be fine after this he wondered ? Who could be fine when holding someone who died, especially someone like him ?

Arthur had cried silently every night, waking up just to do so in private and not feel like a burden, wrecking his sleep pattern and making himself tired and bitter all the time. Sullenly ate and didn't speak for almost the four first months but with groans and short sentences, words and scoffs. He was broken and training until he fell every night in a domain he knew he would never be able to be good at. He wasn't sure if Alfred had tried to talk to him much; they had already been good friends then, and his behaviour easily told what had happened. When they had buried François on a rocky hill next to a mountain, Arthur had wished to give him a better grave, but the war was making it impossible. He had marked the place on the map, and knew he would come back there one day.

It had been months now. Arthur guessed he was feeling better; he didn't really feel too much recently, not since last month. Alfred had been nice, helping and there for him. He had left him more than enough space, just enough for him to get lonely and crave affection. The warrior had been a sweetheart, and Arthur wasn't quite sure how to thank him. It had always been out of the question to give him affection and return his feelings for this... but, after spending months in close proximity and getting close to death more than once, falling in love with him had been slow, almost unnoticed. It had been easy and natural.

It was still difficult, however; Alfred was affectionate, and Arthur was well... not the nicest person the warrior could have wished to fall in love with. Between yelling and barking orders at him like he was a mere subordinate most of the time, Arthur found himself wondering if the other would accept being treated this way, or would decide to leave him before long. It was mainly bitterness; he hadn't been so bad before, but now it felt difficult to let go of the feelings easily, to find a balance for his mood. Alfred seemed to understand this fairly well, and he doubted that the warrior, as naïve and slow as he was, still had doubts about who was his ex-lover. After all, he hadn't been very much subtle.

Last night's rain had left a wet smell to the leaves and ground, and there was a growing number of puddles on the ground. They could see the sky more often, and Arthur noticed they were next to one of the arms of the river. It was deep, and there was even more rocks than before around them. They must have been on the North-East; close enough to a border of a neighbouring country he had once been to, where magic was regarded just as well as it had been in their country. The question now stood: had the Empire taken them too ? Was it a question of time ? Only a yet hang in the air, awaiting for an answer ?

Arthur didn't knew. There was nothing of the world he knew but forests, mountains and ruined towns for the last months, and his own pain he carried, a burned his hands couldn't even wrap around. Some times, he'd hurt himself just to heal, look at the pink shadow his utterly useless skills left on the skin, and would groan, disgusted by his weakness. There was nothing he could do but destroy, burn and hurt. And yet, somehow, the two person he knew who had as little magic as could be inside them, had definitely been the only two person he knew capable of healing, capable to lavish such a care that no wounds would stay. Especially those unsee.

Yet this one he would never heal. It wasn't as much as a mourning: Arthur also felt helpless faced to it, useless and utterly guilty. Nothing what anyone could say would change anything. He had met other mages, some who had assured him it was fine; after all, no one could save everyone. Some white mages saying that such a wound couldn't be healed alone. Lies—Arthur knew they weren't but there was certainly no way he could believe anyone. Being with Alfred brought him even more fear than before, and the Briton felt a painful terror inside himself at all time. They could be attacked. A landslide could happen. If they were wounded, there was nothing much he could do.

The day was going slower and slow, and Alfred turned around suddenly, turning to watch him as if he was worried he wasn't there any more, apparently worried at his silence, and smiled, a little like a child before the warrior turned around again. Arthur lifted an eyebrow to this silent behaviour, but the boy had been this way all day since morning. The night had been... well, special. Alfred had been in an especially good, but very bashful mood ever since they had woke up. If he usually slept fully clothed, Arthur had woke up in the morning in the heat of the summer, blanket pooled around his hip and waist. 

Alfred had been just there, still curiously touching, and the mage had left him do. The boy was just a child anyway; he was about four years older than he was, and the young man just preferred to let him do, looking up to him as he stopped. Something had obviously changed between them, and Arthur had took more time to get dressed above the waist, rather enjoying to see how much of an hypnotic effect his attributes had on his friend. He had gotten rid on his shyness about his body long ago: he had been complexed before, but François had helped him to become more confident. It wasn't because he felt desirable in his eyes or anything—well, it helped—but the man had never stopped to convince him of his beauty, worshipping him almost like a deity. There was something to his words and his attention, the way he respected him that made it easier.

Nonetheless, he had bound them afterwards, and had eased back in the baggy, heavy robes he wore. They were dirty and smelled of rain, still somewhat humid, but they had soon dried in the sun. Now, they were dry and far too warm, but Arthur didn't feel like taking them off. They were made of a thick fabric, one that offered a substantial protection, doubled with leather on the chest area. Arthur wasn't foolish as to refuse another layer of protection. Turning his eyes to Alfred's strong back again, the mage smiled. The boy was acting all shy ever since they woke up... it was cute. They had kissed a few times. It was happy, relaxing... Arthur wondered if Alfred would ask for them to touch each others again once the night would come.

Probably. Damn teenager hormones.

Not that he minded too much. He hadn't hated it; quite the contrary, he had enjoyed to be touched, it was pleasing, and Alfred had shown to be far more patient, respectful and obedient than he had expected another man to be. It was reassuring to know that, and—

His train of thought was cut by an arrow hissing through the air a mere few centimetres from his face. The shock was enough to make him freeze a second, before he pulled his bow off of his shoulder, and picked an arrow. Magic oozed from his skin, creating a light shield around him. Looking to the arrow as it was stuck to a tree, he noticed it was a fabricated one, from stone and branches and wild birds feathers. Outlaws. Tackling Alfred, the mage growled, “Get ready. There's outlaws around.” Another arrow passed over their heads, loosing itself in the thick cover of the leaves.

The warrior had seemed to be alert enough to notice, and grumbled about his chain mail, but picked his broadsword, and held it tightly, knuckles turning whites under the strain. Aiming as he noticed a blonde head peeking out of behind a tree, Arthur hit the bandit right in the eye, the man's body tumbling backwards under the impact. There probably wasn't only a single one possessing a bow, but Arthur had always been an extremely skilled marksman. None of them could beat him at this, and he felt rather confident about magic too.

Yet, there was no ways he could use draining, offensive magic too much. Preferring to use a simple spell of protection as long as his tired body could allow, Arthur aimed and shot. They were easily more than a dozen, and they were probably more at their based, anywhere it was in the thick woods and caverns of this place. Shooting a few of them in the face and neck, Arthur turned to them as they approached Alfred—they were all smaller than him, the warrior apparently not faring too badly on his own.

Alfred was a warrior, Arthur reminded himself, heart beating in his chest, more out of worry than the tiredness, hunger and the magic he definitely shouldn't have been using when he was in such a weak state. Shooting all those he could see coming, the excitation of the fight made him smile, glad to be able to let out his frustrations after so many weeks of not even seeing anyone else but his friend—lover, now. He yelped in surprise as he felt someone trust their hands to his guts, and dropped his arrow, turning around to press his hands to the man's face, burning him instantly with fire. Arrows only bounced off his shield, and the Briton turned around to see what was happening. Such a weak magic only kept steel and stone away, and the mage felt himself pant already, wishing for this to be over soon.

Alfred only had substantial injuries, and stepped over the corpses of his enemies. His muscles covered in their blood, body tense and flexing as he swung his sword around. The mage couldn't help himself from staring from the corner of his eye—the boy was doing far better than he was, and Arthur felt like this fight would need to end soon. Another one he hadn't seen before tried to punch his face to hurt him with his sword as soon as he'd lose his focus, and the Briton burned him again, the heavy magic use making him even more tired. It was draining and he knew he wouldn't be able to last. 

As he was about to call Alfred to come over and back him up, he turned to the warrior as he did so, but suddenly felt a blinding, searing pain on his back, and fell to the ground with a scream as he noticed his robes burning on his back, what seemed to be an apprentice mage had came out of the woods, a smile of victory on his almost toothless mug. With a war cry, Alfred almost stepped over him to slash through the man, making his head roll in only a single swing. Feeling his heart beat so fast Arthur feared it would stop, the mage looked around the scene, noticing Alfred's leg over him as he dropped the content of his gourd over him, putting out the fire with the upper part of his armour. Even the air hurt. Breathing hurt. Gods...

 

The few remnants of bandits had fled cowardly as they had seen most of their allies be killed, and Arthur didn't dare to look to his shoulder, ribs and back yet, laying their in agonizing pain as Alfred soon keeled down, peeking up every minute or so, and looked to the skin touching it. “No !” Arthur shouted, wanting to grip his hand, and shook his head. “Your hands... are dirty. You need to wash them first.” Or at least, dip them in water. If Arthur wasn't very good at healing magic, he knew he needed to have clean hands. Alfred seemed to be lost, and the mage would have laughed at him had he not felt so bad.

“Pick me up,” he said, and Alfred obeyed, getting his bow and arrows, careful not to touch his back. Picking up all of their belongings on his own proved to be harder than it seemed. Arthur's head lolled on his boyfriend's shoulder, and he felt close to unconsciousness had it been not for the way his heart beat. The situation wasn't frightening somehow, and for a second, he understood how François could be so calm even through pain.

Love did this, and being the older one was part of all this. “Okay, good. Now... now... you... will have to...” he groaned, breathing pulling on his skin, making his ribs widen and making the sensitive, burnt skin even more painful. “Get to the river. Somewhere... we won't be seen.”

The warrior didn't answer, and started to run off without a question. Now that he felt what such a wound did, Arthur almost preferred to use lightning magic, his head lolling under the pain he felt. He almost couldn't feel his skin, but everything underneath seemed to have been set on fire. “How... how does it look ?” he asked, more to entertain a conversation than anything else, and make sure he didn't fall asleep.

“Blisters everywhere... your shoulder is... oh gods, it's black... and white it looks like... looks like leather, fuck...”

Shit.

Bad news never waited for another now, did they ? This explained why he couldn't feel most of himself. There was no ways he would be able to completely heal the wound, but he should be able to lessen the extent of the burn on some parts of his back, or mainly his shoulder. The back wasn't the worst place to be burned, he knew—he had burned himself with magic many times enough to remember very well how to heal. However, this one was more extensive than the more or less small ones he had had on his hands ever since he started.

Peeking up to notice they were now on the side of the river, the mage tapped Alfred's shoulder. “Put me down... next to the water.” The rocks were humid and wet where the warrior let him down, but the mage didn't care, and reached for his hand, looking up to explain, “Look, Alfred, this is all going to happen very simply. I want you to... point and touch where the burn is worst.”

Not that it would hurt, he couldn't feel much.

“But—“

“Alfred ! Just do it, for fuck's sake !” That boy needed to get himself a damn backbone. “I can... I can heal some of it but... but not all.”

As someone who didn't practice magic, Alfred seemed to be surprised at this, but nodded again, and pressed his finger somewhere he couldn't even feel at all, and the mage realized this would be more complicated than he wanted it to be. Groaning, he pointed to the water, “Put me... in there. Need to make sure... the flesh under... not burned.” It was probably still below freezing in this month, and he almost yelled in pain but held to the other man as he held his head outside the water. “Get my clothes off. Unless... unless it sticks... too much.” Then, he wasn't sure what to do, but since his physical appearance was the last of his worries, he didn't mind having a dent in his back.

His head lolling to the other's side as he faintly felt him rummage around to get his clothes off. The mage assumed they were all ruined, and wondered if his other clothes would be fine—his thoughts now drifted to his bags, were they burned as well ? As he could still feel his other shoulder—the left one—being rather painless, Arthur guessed it was fine, and hissed as he felt a piece of cloth stick and rip from his burned skin, but didn't had the strength to glare at Alfred when he heard him sob. The boy was being surprisingly gentle... when a clumsy guy like him was so careful and looked so distraught, Arthur felt the anger he tried to keep alive be quelled, and patted his biceps.

“It's okay... it's okay, Alfred...” He looked like he was about to cry, and he understood now. “It's okay... just be more careful now...”

“Yeah.” His voice was tight and constricted, and Arthur looked at him pull his clothes down, exposing what seemed to be all of the burn.

Luckily, not too much of it seemed to have stuck to the skin, and soon enough, Arthur assumed long enough had passed to get out of the water, and closed his eyes as Alfred carried him back on the shore, laying his mattress down to give him something comfortable to lie on. They would be stuck there for a little moment, and the mage wondered if what would happen if an Empire vessel was to be travelling down the river. Probably that they would be dead in a few instants, he thought, chuckling, not quite as much at the irony than at the idea of death itself.

Whether it be life or death now, one of the other didn't seem too bad.

It was a scary thing to be thinking, but Arthur felt too much pain to care, and looked to Alfred, trying to regain composure as he asked, “Where is it ? The... the big part.”

The warrior seemed to hesitate a moment, eyeing the wound worriedly, obviously thinking that all of it must have been horrible, but pointed to his right shoulder, touching the wound a little higher than he had expected. Turning around almost instinctively, he tried to stretch to look at it, but only hurt himself more in the process, only catching a short glimpse of the almost white skin. There was no way to tell how bad it was—even with the small formations he had—when he couldn't even see it ?

Now came the part he wasn't sure would work out very well. After all, the last time he had tried to heal something big, he had tired himself out enough to sleep almost twelve hours on most days they could. Wanting ro reassure Alfred, he turned to him, and tried to look confident, even though his eyes didn't lie. “Now I'm going to... to heal myself. I'm... not very good... it's going to be hard and... won't work a lot but... at least I can lessen it.” He wouldn't be out of danger yet, but it was something, at least. The wound would require a lot of attention afterwards, and the mage explained, “If I pass out, I'll come to. When that happens...” The idea of him losing consciousness seemed to terrorise the poor boy, but only nodded quickly, and Arthur carried on. “You, you will use... the ointment.” It was probably greasy enough. That said, he hadn't burned himself in a while. And never so badly. “You understand ?”

“Yeah, yeah... I get it.”

Closing his eyes to concentrate through the pain, Arthur felt the numbing warmth of the spell spread through his body, and sighed in content as he felt all the pain was gone—but he knew it wouldn't last if he stopped. Focusing as much as he could now that he didn't feel the pain, he felt his body become warmer. The spell seemed to give an almost bliss-like state for a second, but Arthur knew his meager skills could not give him anything more than lessen the extent of the burn, hopefully make it only a little more than skin-deep. The bliss didn't last for too long, and in only a few seconds, he could feel a boiling sweat come off his skin, rolling down his temple and sticking his hair even more against his forehead.

The headache didn't wait to come, and the pain only grew. His skin felt like it was burning in a whole different fashion, and the mage growled, gritting his teeth as he carried on. Something warm slid on his mouth and chin, and he felt the metallic taste of blood enter his mouth. Body stiffening and shaking, there was a small sizzling sound he recognized, and felt relief through the effort the magic demanded him. There was no way he had forgotten the feeling of exerting himself, and he had to lift his head to vomit, too tired to care about how his cheek laid in it now.

Alfred was saying something next to him, but he couldn't hear until he felt it stop, flickering almost like a light. Exhausted, the mage turned his eyes to look at his friend, tired and knowing this was dangerous, but he had lived through it once. And as much as he loved Alfred, death had lost its scare to him, and there was no terror in the thought of it coming for him now, and perhaps a little regret as he felt the world darken around him in a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are nice. Bookmarks are nice. Comments are even nicer !   
> There should (bold that two, three times) be some more if school and work doesn't kill me.  
> Let us all hope and pray.
> 
> I'm not sure if Arthur's reaction isn't a bit odd, but after all, eh I heard it wasn't too bad. I'm probably just being a little too insecure again.

**Author's Note:**

> Shit place to end it, I know. This will probably be about three parts. If I finish it. You can all start praying.
> 
> Next part will be out soon ! Comments are really appreciated ! See you guys soon !


End file.
